Neftalí

Last night
I went for a walk with Neruda.
He took my hand
Whispered
Softly in my ear-
El amor no espera a ningún hombre.
I pause at this.
Lower my eyes to the wine glass
In hand,
Half empty
Half full
Depending on my humor,
And consent to it’s
Solemnity
It’s overwhelming need
To mark the ground
On which I stand
Should I ever require
A way back
To a dead man’s
Sound advice.